I tried to get myself under control. “I’ll never figure out who he was if I don’t start thinking logically,” I told myself. Last night, after the escorts had brought everybody into the main room of the house, I looked around carefully. All through the speeches of welcome and laughter about the guys whose hazing left them with paint on their faces or weird patterns shaved into their hair, I was watching the older frat brothers for any sign that would tip the identity of my phantom. Nobody stared at me (except for some notice of my burnt hair) or said anything that revealed they knew who had come into that room or that they were the one person besides myself who knew what really happened in there. I had gone to bed without a single clue to identify my mystery lover.
Saturday, when I was finally too exhausted to play with myself anymore, I began to analyze what I knew. He had to be one of the frat leaders, most likely a senior. They were the ones who planned and controlled the hazing activities, on the supposition that they were mature enough to keep things from getting dangerous. He must have major persuasive skills to talk the others into letting him “haze” me by himself. After all, watching some freshman get embarrassed was the point of the ritual. It was unlikely he was one of the four “out” gay guys in the frat. Only one of them was a senior and he was a true nerd type. I couldn’t picture him having the nerve to do something like that or being able to talk the others into letting him go alone into a room where a pledge was tied up and blindfolded. Besides, his hands were too small. I remembered the big, rough, masculine hands on my stomach. I resisted the urge to jerk off again and went on with my analysis.
I didn’t have much to go on as far as height or weight were concerned. My position on the floor didn’t give me much perspective. I didn’t feel any long hair brushing against me, so he probably had it cut regularly. He had a lighter, but I didn’t remember the smell of cigarettes on him, or pot, or booze, for that matter. I knew some of the guys had been involved in one or more of those activities earlier in the evening, so I mentally took them off my list of suspects.
I thought about the men who remained on the list and I really couldn’t think of any true criteria for removing any of them. Some had steady girl friends, but that wasn’t proof they weren’t gay or bi-sexual. I flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling trying to sort through all the possibilities. Finally I asked myself, “So who do you WANT it to be?” That answer came easily: Steve Vernon. If someone asked me to describe the ideal man I would have painted them a word picture of Steve. He exuded an easy-going confidence that I envied. He seemed to effortlessly make everyone he talked to feel like they were fascinating to him. He could have sold eyeglasses to a blind man and left him feeling grateful to have encountered Steve.
Someone with vision would have enjoyed him even more, because the guy was great looking. Someone in the frat had mentioned that Steve was a triathelete. I’d seen him biking around campus and when I struggled over to the pool a couple of mornings to get some laps in, Steve was always there. His body in a Speedo was a sight to behold. He had wide shoulders, a perfect six-pack, and a lean, tight ass. (He was featured in all of my orgy fantasies of late.) His face wasn’t classically handsome. It was little too rugged for that, but his dark eyes sparkled and his lop-sided grin drew you in and made you smile back. His dark brown hair always seemed to be slightly windblown. The whole package added up to a very attractive man.
“God, it would be wonderful if Steve was my phantom lover,” I thought. If I could prove it, I was definitely going to be all over the guy. I’d make him pay. I force him to have sex with me until he passed out from exhaustion. That thought, of course, resulted in my dropping trou and taking care of business AGAIN.
By Monday I’d pulled myself together enough to get to my classes. I was pre-med and enrolled in a couple of the tough courses that the university used to weed-out those who wouldn’t be able to cut it in medical school. I needed to focus on my work, but it took all the will I had. I did OK during the day and when I studied in the evening, but after I got into bed at night the hot memories and fantasies would overwhelm me. Steve was no longer just one of the players in my sexual thoughts. He was the whole show. I had no idea if he was my phantom lover or not, but he was firmly established as the object of my lust. I got up to go to the bathroom and jerk off so often my roommate asked me if I had a bladder infection.
As casually as I could manage, I stayed close to Steve. I made sure I swam every morning at the same time he did and when I found out he ran around the track for an hour most nights, I took that up as my habit as well. I was an emotional basket case, but, damn, I was getting into good shape!
I often saw a pretty redheaded girl with Steve and they seemed very close, but somehow it didn’t look sexual. He seemed affectionate and protective of her, like I am with my sisters, but I didn’t see any lingering kisses or ass-grabbing. I saw the same redhead with a girl from my chem class quite often, so I asked about her.
“That’s Bree, my roommate,” Jenny told me. “Are you interested in meeting her? She’s a great girl, but I don’t think she’s ready for a boyfriend right now.”
“Oh, I thought she was going with one of my frat brothers, Steve Vernon. I’ve seen them around together. I just mentioned her because she looked like a nice person.”
“Oh, you know Mr. Wonderful? He’s not her boyfriend, but he sort of takes care of her.” Jenny’s eyes clouded over.
“Does she need taking care of for some reason?” I asked.
“Listen, Brian, I’ve only known you a couple of months, but I get the impression you’re a decent guy. Can you keep your mouth shut if I tell you something?”
I assured Jenny that I could be trusted.
“Well, last year Bree and I were freshmen, and the older guys really swooped down on us. I’ve got four brothers who talk about their friends so I’m kind of jaded about men. I like to think I can spot the predators, but Bree grew up with only her Mom, and she was just too trusting. One of the seniors asked her out and talked her into coming to his off-campus apartment so he could pick something up and before she knew what was happening he was all over her. When she resisted he smacked her around and raped her.”
“Jesus, the poor kid,” I said. I was horrified. I could just picture some asshole doing that to one of my sisters. “I’d have hunted him down and ripped his cock off.”
“Well,” said Jenny, smiling at me, “we may have to start calling you the OTHER Mr. Wonderful. That’s pretty much what your friend Steve set out to do when he saw Bree all bruised and dazed, trying to make her way back to our dorm afterward. He and Bree barely knew each other then, but he stopped her and asked what was wrong and when she blurted it out, he got out his cell phone, called me to come take care of her, and when I got there he went looking for the guy. An hour later the two of them showed up at the campus police station where the rapist turned himself in for ‘going too far with a young lady who hadn’t given full permission.’ He explained the fact that he had a bleeding nose, bruises all over his upper body, and a dislocated shoulder by saying he ‘tripped’ on the way over. The fact that Steve had swollen, bleeding knuckles was ignored.”
“Did the prick get convicted?”
“Bree agreed to let him plead guilty to assault and battery and attempted rape, so she wouldn’t have to testify. She was in no shape to do it at the time. He got a five year sentence and he has to register as a sex-offender when he gets out. Steve encouraged her all the way and he’s kind of appointed himself her big brother ever since. I’m not sure she would have stayed in school if he hadn’t been here. He really is a great guy.”
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